Sunday mornings always feel special to me. No mater what the weather, it could be pouring cats and dogs, but Sundays for me are always days of sunshine and happiness. If I had to give Sundays a colour, it would be yellow, a lovely smiley sunshine yellow. Sundays are meant for a lazy snooze in,…
Read morePatterns
Patterns Life was so predictable. A pattern set for each day, This then that and then this again, Repeat over and over. Linear… Horizontal or vertical, But always repetitive. The days falling in pattern. Till one day something broke. And everything started spinning, Twisting and turning, Mixing the broken pieces, To create New designs, new…
Read morePicking Up The Pieces
This post is written in response to the prompt on Write Tribe’s #WritingWednesdays. “Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.” ― Anton Chekhov “Is this what you call tea?” he yelled and flung the cup across the room at her. She ducked instinctively to avoid the hot liquid….
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Endlessly
I walk through the house Listlessly It seems so big somehow And so empty. I strain my ears. Is that your voice I hear? That laugh that was so typically you. I close my eyes and I can breathe in the scent of your body, Feel its warmth surrounding me. I reach out and…
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